


Hook, Line and Sinker

by HannahLydia



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Atlas CEO Rhys, Daddy Kink, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Shameless Smut, Threesome, Tim as Rhys' PA, Tim-Sandwich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-10-31 05:23:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17843276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahLydia/pseuds/HannahLydia
Summary: "He’d fully intended to sit on the sidelines until Jack did something stupid, as Jack had a way of doing. Pick up the pieces once he kicked the bucket or broke Rhys' heart, whichever came first. Except none of those things seemed to behappening. Instead it now felt like Jack and Rhys had both conspired together to bait him; left out some kind of trail for him to follow before trapping him at the end of it. He was no longer holding his breath for Rhys to be his, because it had gotten to the point that the three of them together were some kind of-- uncertain certainty."Caught up in a late-night threeway with Jack and Rhys, Tim comes to realise exactly where his feelings lie.(Otherwise known as: gratuitous Tim-sandwich Rhackothy.)





	Hook, Line and Sinker

Timothy Lawrence's life had flashed before his eyes a number of times, but while getting laid? _That_ was a first. Sure, he’d nearly stressed himself into cardiac arrest sitting his final exams, not to mention when he was being prepped for his first round of plastic surgery, but he’d never pictured himself experiencing a detailed life review when he was just about-ready to blow. Was that the measure of true ecstasy? He wasn’t exactly ‘experienced’ between the sheets - he still approached each and every sexual encounter like a giddy-with-nerves virgin - and so he found himself wondering whether he’d ever truly been satisfied before this moment.  

Just _how the hell_ had he ended up here anyway? Pinned between a man he loved and another he thought he loathed? It felt like a pressing question, despite the fact that he wasn’t in any fit state to focus on questions right now.  
The simplest answer was that Handsome Jack was a hard man to refuse. All that money, power, charisma - not to mention the fact that he _owned_ _his entire existence_ \- made it virtually impossible to say no to him. Add to it that Tim was hopelessly and irrevocably in love with his boss’ boyfriend, who just so happened to be his _other_ boss, and you had a recipe to be reckoned with.  
Jack knew about his feelings for Rhys, Tim was certain of it. What he _wasn’t_ certain of was how long Jack was willing to let it go unchecked, or whether it even bothered him in the first place.

He hadn't meant to make his feelings so painfully obvious but _everything_ had changed when Rhys had first walked into his life. He’d been nothing short of the proverbial beacon of hope, halo and all. The very instant the Children of Helios had introduced the young, dashing CEO of Atlas, Tim had become so taken with him that he'd come out of hiding and practically dropped to his knees at the steps of Old Haven. His all-consuming crush on Rhys had seemed to develop overnight, and he’d found himself absorbed with everything about him - his looks, his smile, his presence, his laugh. He fell for Rhys hook, line and sinker, and had embarrassed himself on numerous occasions with doe-eyes and stammered confessions the likes of which he had once left at Moxxi's feet. It was a wonder he’d managed to get a job _at all._ Still, Tim had been serving as his PA for close to a year now. It was probably the happiest he’d ever been career-wise, even in spite of Handsome Jack’s inevitable return. That may or may not have been because Tim had spent most of that time in denial and in his own fantasy-bubble, all-out ignoring the fact that Jack was back like the proverbial phoenix risen from the ashes. Placebo or not - the fantasy had helped him through the day; kept him smiling, kept him hoping. After all, it had seemed so _straightforward_. Rhys couldn’t feel anything but hatred for Handsome Jack because they spent so much time arguing and threatening violence that there was no way anything else could be true.  
_Great!_ , Tim had thought, because even  _if_ he had Jack’s (old) face, and even _if_ he had picked up some of his mannerisms thanks to acting like him for so long, he’d been utterly convinced that Rhys would be able to see past all that. And Rhys _had_ seen past that, but not because he’d fallen for Tim, oh no. It was because he didn’t hate Jack at all - or at least, not enough to let it stop him from dating him.    
That was precisely how fate had decided to screw him over, and how Jack had stuck one hell of a pin in his precious little bubble. It wasn't enough that Tim had spent months beyond count living incognito and hiding his face after his death. It wasn't enough that he'd lost his chance with Moxxi because he'd been too much of a ringer for the ex she despised so much. It wasn't even enough that after all this he was unable to go home to Mom. (She'd just laughed at him when he'd tried, which was _clearly_ a misunderstanding). No, even after all of that, after coming out the other end of that messy period in his life and setting his sights on a princely, long-legged wonder, Jack had _still_ come back to haunt him by claiming the man for himself.  
_… Bu-ut if Jack has a chance with him, then so do I, right?_ Had been Tim's (dangerous) way of thinking. After all, he was a dead ringer for him, wasn't he? If Rhys found Jack attractive then, by extension, surely he thought the same of him?

He’d fully intended to sit on the sidelines until Jack did something stupid, as Jack had a way of doing. Pick up the pieces once he kicked the bucket or broke Rhys' heart, whichever came first. Except none of those things seemed to be _happening_. Instead it now felt like Jack and Rhys had both conspired together to bait him; left out some kind of trail for him to follow before trapping him at the end of it. He was no longer holding his breath for Rhys to be his, because it had gotten to the point that the three of them together were some kind of-- uncertain certainty.

Tim didn't want to 'like' Jack. Jack terrified him and irritated him in equal measure. He had _sworn_ he was done getting mixed up in his bullshit - sworn it by all that was god damn holy - and yet there was something so compelling about him that it oozed out of him like a miasma; a stupidly alluring magnetism, despite all sense and reason. Tim had started to wonder if it wasn’t _just_ Rhys he was becoming so attached to.  
Oh, he _hated_ Jack, absolutely - the man had put him through hell. He was a self-absorbed narcissist with an ego the size of a space station. Not to mention a sadist and psychopath with a hero complex. What was more, Tim didn’t even find him _attractive,_ not superficially anyway _._ It was off-putting that they had the same face, and Jack’s mask only made it somewhat easier to swallow.  
Nevertheless, whenever Jack was balls-deep in Rhys, face creased up with pleasure and muttering dirty-talk that bordered on sweet nothings, Tim found himself tracing every line of that angled face, every bead of sweat, every flash of affection in his eyes that Jack tried to keep lidded, and more often that not lately he found himself thinking: _he has_ no _right to look that hot.  
_He didn't know when it had happened, but he had the horrible feeling he had fallen for both of them, and if that was the case? Tonight _really_ wasn't helping matters.

This wasn't the first time the three of them had ended up in a messy tangle. In some way they had a kind of routine - some sketchy system of hook-ups that coincided with Tim’s shore leave since he’d started working part-time for Jack again.  
For most of these last minute booty calls he’d usually rock up to find them completely dizzy with alcohol, inviting him on a whim like a tool for their pleasure. The tag-along. The third wheel.  
Usually it was Rhys who was sandwiched in the middle, and there had never been any movement on that before.  
Tim had always known his place, deep down, however self-deprecating it was. His feelings were unrequited and so he was just the fantasy, the injected element of fun in their relationship. He wasn’t “real” because he was just a doppelganger, and therefore just a second Jack in the bedroom and no better than a toy. Jack didn't invitehim as a unique individual, and so Tim had never been truly _wanted_ before. At least... that was how it had always felt before tonight. Tim didn’t know what had given or when, but he was in heaven right now and that was saying something.

He was well and truly sandwiched between the two of them, with Jack’s broad chest underneath him and Rhys’ tall, lithe body straddling his. Caught between them as he was, Tim wasn’t even doing any of the work. The two of them were _wrecking_ him, barely giving him an inch between them.  
Rhys was on top and riding him as if it had been choreographed, impaling himself over and over again with undulating hip movements that hitched every so often with sheer _need_. Meanwhile Jack had him squarely in his lap, thrusting up into him without mercy, until Tim thought he might break. Expletives rained out of his mouth over and over, his pitch increasing with each broken-off curse, and Jack seemed to fuck up into him harder as a result. It was as if he was chasing after those sounds, his ego inflating with each one. 

Tim had never taken Jack's cock before. Rhys had been careful to work him open, to prepare him, but even so it had been an _adjustment_ to say the least. He thought he'd known what to expect considering he'd been forcibly endowed to the same degree during surgery - they were _hung_ \- but Jack had felt even bigger than he looked. Tim had been sure he was being turned inside-out at first, yet now he was begging for it like he was long-accustomed, needing to feel that thick girth stretching him open.

He could easily imagine the obscene and arrogant grin that must be on Jack's face right now. It probably matched the look on Rhys’.  
Both of them were very much in charge, but considering Rhys dominated Tim’s field of vision it was _his_ control that was more prominent. He was straddling him and pinning him against Jack, appearing just as much of a ringer for his boyfriend as Tim might have done, only it wasn’t in the appearance but in the _expressions._  The wicked glint in Rhys’ eyes, that self-righteous smile, the ego peeking through the lust. It wasn’t at all the dorky, amiable man that he had fallen for. Tim reckoned this was a side of him that he had never had a chance to see before, but he’d be damned if it wasn’t insanely attractive. _Here_ was the man that ruled Atlas with an iron - or chrome - fist; the man who _knew_ he was good-looking and used it to charm, to threaten. A man who was ambitious, and willing to do almost anything to get what he wanted.  
_And he wants me-!_ Tim realised all of a sudden. It was almost too good to be true, and yet he could tell from Rhys’ lust-filled, mismatched eyes, and the heated way they raked over him. Even Jack’s vice-like grip on his hips was possessive, staking a claim. Barely giving him an opportunity to digest the thought, it was at that moment that Jack adjusted his angle and started thrusting up against his prostate. Letting out a garbled whine, Tim threw his head back and narrowly missed Jack’s as he did so, turning his gaze to the ceiling.

Whenever the three of them had been intimate before, Jack and Rhys would usually throw conspiratorial looks at each other, until Tim felt like the gooseberry; the distant moon orbiting their little world. Now, however? They were very much focused on him and him alone. A vehicle for their pleasure, maybe, but Tim didn’t care so long as the attention was solely fixed upon him.  
Jack was grunting in his ear, breath hot against his cheek, and with every thrust he was working Tim’s knees up higher, spreading his legs wider as he angled him back. It should have made Rhys’ job difficult, and yet he moved in sync with his boyfriend, as if they had scripted and rehearsed this. Tim was starting to think that they had - some premeditated scheme of dicking him to death, because between the two of them he felt like he was being eaten alive. If it wasn’t for the cock ring they’d slipped around him, he would have blown long before now.  
He kept one of his hands back behind his head and entangled in Jack’s hair, while the other was squeezing Rhys’ thigh so hard that the impression of his fingers were bound to bruise. He didn’t know whose name to cry out; around his moans both of their names were tumbling out, layering over one another, weaving between the curses, the gasps, the overwhelmed sobs.

“Tha-aaat’s it…” Jack encouraged, driving up into him so hard that Tim could barely hear him over the wet slap of their bodies.  
Above him, Rhys arched back, clenched around him so perfectly tight that it was maddening. It was getting too much. Tim’s vision was becoming fainter, the world dimming, almost blind with pleasure.  
“I-I-I’m guh-- g-gonna come…!” He cried out in warning, not knowing how he managed to string together actual words when his thoughts were a clustered mantra of _thankyouGodthankyouholycrapppp._

Something flashed in Rhys’ face, written in the arch of his brow, the curve of his lips and the heat of his eyes - something like triumph and hunger all in one. His lips parted, but Jack cut him off with a deep-throated chuckle. If there was one thing Jack loved more than good sex, it was the sound of his own voice.   
“ _Ohhhh_ no, pumpkin, not jus’ yet. See, we’re all in this _together_ , aren’t we? ‘s why you’re gonna be a _good boy_ for me, huh? For daddy? So we can all-ll come together, right, Rhysie?”

 _'Daddy'_. Tim should have been used to Jack's weird kinks by now and yet he still found himself surprised; unsure whether he was aroused or repulsed. Somehow it was an odd mix of both.   
He could tell from Rhys’ expression that he wanted to say something clever - something _sexy_ \- in response, but what came out was a cross between a nervous laugh and a whine of pain.  
“ _Rhys_?” Jack insisted in a low, gravelly voice, as if the verbal back-up was mandatory.  
“Aaah-hhaha…" Rhys' eyes had drifted closed. Eyebrows arching, he sucked in his bottom lip to bite down on it, the very picture of debauchery. It seemed like his body spasmed for a moment as he began grinding down on Tim's length, relishing the feeling, pleasure etched into every detail of his face. "H-Hell yes…”

Tim closed his own eyes; had to. The sight of Rhys’ face was just far too erotic for its own good. Releasing a sob that trailed off into a hum, Tim clamped his lips tightly shut as if embarrassed by his own pleasured whimpers. He tried to tell himself to hold off for as long as humanly possible, but the more they kept pounding him in tandem, the more his own body turned against him.  
Jack’s lips were so close to the nape of his neck, and it was just as unhinging as Rhys’ rhythm above him. He wanted those lips sucking at his skin and leaving marks in their wake, he wanted his mouth upon them, he wanted everything he had never wanted before, because until now he had never wanted Jack as badly as he'd wanted Rhys.  
He imagined what it’d be like to kiss Jack - _really_ kiss him, not just for show - all tongue and urgency, and his hips bucked at the thought.

"You're allllll ours now, handsome...” Jack breathed against him, the strain creeping into his voice for the first time. He sounded so breathy and aroused that Tim's cock began throbbing insistently inside of Rhys. The idea of being owned - and owned by _both_ of them - had never occurred to him before as something he would have wanted, and yet it was all-consuming suddenly, like he couldn't get enough of it. He started nodding, leaning back and tilting his head until he was cheek-to-cheek with Jack where he rested his chin on his left shoulder. The cold bite of his mask clip was against his side-burn, digging in, but he didn't think he would abandon the intimacy of contact with him as a result. Tim gripped Jack's hair ever tighter, hard enough that it might've hurt, and yet Jack didn't seem to feel it other than to start driving his hips faster.  
“Y'feel that?" He hissed, drawing out of him entirely before easing the head back in and then inch after inch until he was fully inside of him once more. "That's us ownin' every friggin' part o' you, baby. Bet you love it, don't'cha? Huh? Bet'cha all your _miserable_ life you wanted somethin’ like this,"

Tim wanted to tell him no. No, he’d have been happy in a quiet motel with Rhys and Rhys alone, with some low-level jazz and candlelight, far from Jack’s exorbitant penthouse apartment and his cocky attitude and his stupid, conflicting threesomes. He wanted to tell him he hated him and always had, that he'd rued the day he'd met him ever since the day he'd  _met_ him. What came out instead, however, was a broken little affirmative that was no more than a shamed whimper.  
"Y-Ye-es..." He choked out, mortified to admit it.   
" _Louder_ , kiddo,"   
"Yes!!"

Above him, Rhys was lowering himself down so that they were chest-to-chest, pressing them both closer to Jack whilestepping up the intimacy a few more notches. Tim didn’t have to open his eyes to know what expression would be on Rhys’ face right now - one that he could imagine would suit Jack’s better. Smug, domineering. Rhys’ hands joined Jack’s - Tim could feel the brush of his fingertips, flesh and metal, against his hips.  
“Y’know… if I didn’t know any better--”  
“--you’d say what? That he’s enjoyin’ every second of this?”  
“Well, _that_...” It was Rhys’ turn to sound hoarse, like he was holding everything back. “... b-but that I think he has eyes for you, Jack,”

Tim’s eyes snapped open guiltily. As if Rhys had just confessed some dirty, deeply-repressed secret, he wailed. He was aware that he was clenching fitfully around the invasion of Jack’s thickness inside of him, and he was attempting to stammer out words of protest that were only going to fall flat.  
_Nononono… don’t-- don’t tell him_ **_that_** _...!_ God, he didn’t need to inflate that man’s ego anymore, nor did he intend to incite his wrath.  
“D-Don’t--- s’not--- it’s not---” He protested, a wave of panic rushing over him. Yet in spite of the panic, his cock was pulsing ever more inside of Rhys, like he was getting off on the humiliation.   
Tim waited for Jack to roar with laughter, or for whatever insult was surely about to come, and yet all that happened was a swift nip to the side of his throat. Reprimanding, followed by a chuckle that set the hairs on Tim's arms on end.    
“'It's not' _what_? After all-lll we’ve been through, you’re _still_ holdin’ out on me, kiddo?”

"I--!"

As if to prevent Tim sticking his foot in it, Rhys suddenly pressed his mouth to his, thereby cutting off any further words of objection. Moaning into the kiss, Tim gave in - not only to the feeling of being double-teamed by both of them, but giving in to having a shred of feeling for Jack.

Rhys was the first to come. Then, after a series of wicked thrusts against Tim's prostate, Jack slammed in to the hilt and spilled within him, butting his forehead against his shoulder with a groan. Tim followed suit in the charged and frantic seconds afterwards, all three of them hitting their peaks within moments of one another.   
It was  _Tim's_ name that the two men called out, not each other's. All this time the body double hadn't even been sure Jack knew he  _had_ a name, let alone bothered to remember what it actually was. To hear it spill from his lips in an almost angry grunt, followed by Rhys' frantic echo brought a hot flush to Tim's cheeks.   

Once the three of them had climbed down from their individual peaks, the afterglow was short-lived. There was nothing 'romantic' about the way Jack slipped out of him, cursed irritably and then tried to weasel out from under him, but there was definitely something in the way Rhys lingered until Tim naturally softened, with his head on his chest and a doting expression on his face.  
Tim’s eyes were a little watery from having come so hard, but in some way he was also completely overwhelmed. To be the sole subject of their attention for so long was nothing short of humbling, and it had more than made up for all the times he'd just been there to take directions from Jack. 

While the older man scooted away from them to reach for a cigarette and his data-pad, putting distance between them, Tim and Rhys were left to their own affectionate bubble. The doppelganger's arms trembled as he wrapped them around Rhys; afraid to touch him, as if to do so would disrupt whatever they had going here. And yet Rhys let out a soft exhale through his nose, half-laughing as he relaxed against him. 

Recalling all the times he’d been certain that he could see _something_ in Rhys’ face whenever their eyes met, something that went beyond simple friendship, Tim sank into the bed with a strange mix of nostalgia and contentment. He recounted the way Rhys would laugh at all his jokes, hold his gaze for just a little bit too long, smile a smile the likes of which Tim swore only he was seeing. He’d come to accept in the time since that Jack saw that smile too, and that there was nothing he could do to breach whatever bond the two of them had, and yet Rhys also no longer felt so... _unattainable_.   
Tim had no idea if this evening meant more in the long-run than just an intimate three-way or whether this was a fresh start for them, but for the first time he found himself wanting more than just to get close to Rhys. Staring at the hard line of Jack’s back where he had rolled away from them, unaware just how longingly he was gazing at him, Tim realised with certainty what he’d been trying to ignore for the longest time. More than anything now, he knew he wanted to be with _both of them_. 


End file.
